


Can You Get Me Off Your Mind

by thrace



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrace/pseuds/thrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cara tries to puzzle Kahlan out while they deal with a decimated village and Richard and Zedd are elsewhere. Medical inaccuracies abound, but only because the show did it first.</p>
<p>[Archived from livejournal]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Get Me Off Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pirateygoodness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/gifts).



> I am slowly moving my fic over from my LJ. This is from an old post in February 2010.

Of course the moment Zedd and Richard left, chasing after the Stone of Tears and leaving Cara and Kahlan to look after a struggling village, Kahlan found a way to get them even deeper in dramatics completely unrelated to the Seeker. 

The village had been hard-hit by D'Harans, the men conscripted and the women and children left to grow enough food for themselves and for the monthly tithe. There were virtually no elderly left; they'd either been broken by the toil or died of starvation. The adults had a permanently pinched look, and the children were that strange combination of round-faced and stick-limbed. And still leftover D'Haran patrols preyed on the village, trying to feed themselves the only way they knew how. Of course Richard felt responsible--when did he ever _not_ feel responsible for the suffering of others? But the Stone beckoned, and they'd had no choice but to split up and make plans to meet up later. Kahlan and Cara would help the villagers organize and perhaps weed out the worst of the D'Harans, then catch up with Richard and Zedd in four days' time.

Their first day in the village everyone asked them for food. Everyone. They split up all the food in their packs between the children, but it was barely enough for a few mouthfuls each. Kahlan had taken one look at those doleful faces, turned to Cara, and said "See if you can find a deer or something."

And so Cara pursed her lips, grabbed her bow--the one Richard had restrung so its draw was better suited for her--shouldered her quiver and marched out into the surrounding forest to see if she could scare up sufficiently large game. She had her doubts; the D'Harans had done a thorough job of hunting out the area. She knew, though, that coming back empty-handed was not an option. 

It took nearly two hours to find deer sign close to a running stream, and another hour of patient tracking before she came upon what she needed. She'd let some rabbits and squirrels go by; this was enough for just shy of three score women and children to split up, a large and well-fed doe. She nocked an arrow, the new fletching brushing against her fingers. While Richard had been plaiting together a new bowstring, Kahlan had showed her how to take a plucked goose feather and fletch an arrow. Of course Cara had been a proficient archer; it was helpful to know how to drop a man at a hundred paces. But the Mord'Sith always had the finest supplies delivered by D'Haran soldiers. There was no plucking, no heating pitch over a fire, no refletching because they had no coin to buy arrows from a reputable dealer. Cara had burned a finger on the pitch; she hadn't made a fuss about it, mostly wanting to stare at the reddened patch of skin to see if it would blister, but Kahlan had opened a water skin and poured it over her finger without asking. Cool on warm--it had felt good, and Cara hadn't objected. 

Now she hesitated. Better to bring down a buck, if she could find one. But the sun was going down, and she doubted she'd be able to find a buck in the time she had left. A buck would be harder to bring back, too. She gave a mental shrug, sighted carefully, and let fly. 

The arrow buried itself in the deer's heart, thrilling for a moment before the deer tipped over. Cara felt a moment of elation, as if she'd been struck herself with a bolt from a benevolent spirit. She pulled Kahlan's knife from the side of her quiver. She could have finished the job with an agiel, but both Kahlan and Richard had objections to ending an animal's life in pain. So Kahlan had given Cara one of her daggers, along with a raised eyebrow that Cara didn't need to remind her to _make it swift, make it merciful._

The deer was already dead, though. It was a good shot. Cara pulled the arrow free, hoping the head would be intact. It wasn't, but she stuck the bloody shaft in her quiver anyway because they couldn't afford to waste. She tied the legs together, gave the doe a few testing tugs to gauge its weight, then slung it over her shoulders. 

Even though she'd been circling the village, it was still nearly an hour's walk. She came back when the sun was half gone, casting long shadows on the ground. One of the boys on sentry duty saw her approaching and ran up to help her, completely negating his use as a sentry. She refused his help, stopping in her tracks until he got the point. "Signal the village," she said, managing to keep her sneer to a minimum. 

The boy apparently thought she was encouraging him because he smiled, nodded, and dashed off. 

Kahlan came out to greet her next, the boy tagging along behind her, looking eagerly at the deer. Cara waited for the inevitable reprimand-- _Oh Cara, a doe?_ \--but none was forthcoming. Hunger was a great justifier.

"Come on. We need to clean it," said Kahlan instead, and took her to a hut they used for butchering. It hadn't seen such a large animal in some time, but the mark of older bloodstains still coated the stone table.

Cara had seen this process before--all trainees visited abattoirs as a matter of purpose, not only to remove lingering squeamishness, but also to learn about the interaction of bone and muscle and organ, to see bodies stripped bare and to remove the mystery of their workings. All people could be reduced thus, could be broken down thus.

Together they strung the deer up by its hind legs, hanging it over a large pan to catch the blood. Kahlan used a borrowed skinning knife to open the neck veins, letting out a stream of still-warm blood. When the stream had slowed to a bare trickle, one of the women took the pan away; the blood would be used in the cooking. Another woman helped them, using a short, sharp knife to peel skin away from muscle. Afterwards they removed the head and the legs, then sectioned the meat for cooking. Most of it was going into a stew, so as to stretch the food as far as possible.

Cara watched Kahlan intently during the arduous cleaning process. She'd seen Kahlan up to her ankles in blood before, streaked with dirt and yet more blood while her hands weaved intricately through strikes that spoke of long practice. But here there was no artistry, only grim efficiency. Kahlan's hair was pinned back and her front was covered with an apron, as though she were a common fishwife. It was as pedestrian a task as Cara had ever seen her perform; she wouldn't have counted upon seeing the Mother Confessor piling up slippery intestines in her lifetime. Cara liked her better on a battlefield, if she liked Kahlan at all.

Dinner that night was joyous, with a large bonfire in the center of the village that Cara had plainly objected to no less than three times, knowing it would attract attention. But apparently these people needed hope, as well as full bellies, and Kahlan had told her to let them have one night to eat and remember when life was easier. Cara, who was practicing not rolling her eyes at impractical suggestions, merely slouched off to patrol the perimeter. 

The sentry boy found her there, still lurking on the dark edges of the village. She heard him long before she saw him, and when she did, he approached so that he was silhouetted by firelight. "Um, miss?" he called. "Miss? Are you there?"

She loomed up on him from the side, hoping he'd learn his lesson about groping blindly in the dark. He yelped, spilling half the contents of the bowl in his hand. "Yes?" she said.

"I--I brought you this," he stammered. He showed her the bowl--her portion of the venison stew, well-seasoned and simmered with gathered herbs. 

She accepted it, hoping that would mollify the boy and get him to go away. 

"Thank you," he said. 

Cara just stared at him. 

"Okay, I have to go help my ma now," he said. He stumbled a little as he backed away from her, righted himself, and trotted back to the others. 

"You should be nicer to him," said Kahlan from behind her, and she just barely managed not to repeat the boy's performance with the bowl, gripping it tightly instead. She turned around, the picture of composure.

"I am nice to him," said Cara. 

"He looks up to you," said Kahlan. 

Cara couldn't tell if she was being mocked or not. "The Mord'Sith don't accept boys to train."

Kahlan sighed. "That's not what I meant."

"Shouldn't you be...feasting?" asked Cara, glancing down at her soup. It didn't look like much, but it did smell good. 

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Kahlan countered. "That doe weighed nearly as much as me."

"Well, we both know I'm more than capable of carrying your dead weight," said Cara, knowing it would annoy Kahlan and unable to help herself. It was the only bit of fun she was bound to have for a while.

Sure enough, Kahlan let out a noisy breath and began walking back to the celebration. "Enjoy your dinner," she said.

"It does taste better when you've killed it yourself," said Cara before Kahlan could leave earshot. Kahlan didn't look back.

*

The second day was when things went from irritating to unacceptable. The sentry boy--Kahlan had informed her at breakfast that his name was Simon, yes, he'd left the flowers for her, and no, she shouldn't tell Simon about her own childhood--had managed to disappear. His mother said that there was a bow missing from their hut, and after a quick count, Cara could see three of her arrows were gone as well. 

"His father never took him hunting before he got conscripted," said Alitha. "He was frustrated he couldn't provide for us."

"Do you have any idea where he would go?" Kahlan asked.

Alitha shook her head; Cara just folded her arms and waited for Kahlan to use _that look_ on her again. She wondered if Kahlan had learned it from Richard or vice-versa; either way, they both tended to stare at her as if she had already refused, and if they could only impart the importance of the situation, she might agree. Lately they'd been skipping ahead to the part where she agreed, not bothering with reasoning. Kahlan looked over her shoulder--there it was. Cara left the hut.

Outside, she got in the first word. "I suppose you want us to go chasing after the little thief."

Kahlan seemed resigned to the discussion; Cara didn't know if it was a good or bad sign. "What if he's lost, or hurt? He's just a boy."

"We all have to grow up some time," said Cara. "Let him wander until he gets hungry. Either he'll learn to hunt or he won't."

"And what if he ran into a D'Haran patrol, or fell, or can't find his way back?" asked Kahlan, arms folded in a mirror image of Cara. 

Cara smirked. "I suppose tracking a clumsy boy is easier than a deer. And you won't need to skin this one when I bring it back."

Kahlan was unamused. "Find him," she said, but it was less order and more a statement of fact, as if it were a foregone conclusion that Cara would bring him back.

And so for the second time in as many days, Cara circled out from the village, trying to imagine what a child with no training and little common sense would do if he'd decided to go looking for big game. She retraced her own steps from the day before, hoping Simon had done the same. Sure enough she found fresh sign--bent plants, broken branches, thread caught on burrs. She even found an impression from his shoes in the soft mud of the streambank. He'd apparently been making very slow time, if she was catching up to him after less than half an hour. The sun wasn't even high in the sky; she'd be back for lunch. 

But then the tracks ended. She was in a small clearing, where the trees thinned out due to a rocky outcropping that shaped a small hill, with a sharp vertical dropoff on one side. With growing trepidation, she circled the outcropping, finding Simon lying on the ground on the other side. The stolen bow and arrows were nowhere to be seen and he was cradling his arm to his body. "Simon," she said, watching his chest to see if he was breathing. 

He lifted his head and looked directly at her, setting off a wave of a relief she hadn't known was waiting to be released. She wouldn't go back empty-handed, and the mother wouldn't cry, and Kahlan wouldn't use that sad, disappointed voice on her to ask her if she'd _really tried_. 

"What are you doing?" Cara asked.

"I got hurt," he said. "I climbed up to see if I could get a better look around, and I fell off. I was just resting before I tried to go back."

"Mm-hmm," said Cara, not actually interested in how he'd managed to hurt himself. "Can you walk?"

He sat up, still favoring his arm. She could see streaks on his dirty face; he'd been crying. "I think so," he said.

"Then get up. I'll take you back."

Slowly, gingerly, he got to his feet, breathing heavily from the pain. Fresh tears welled in his eyes, which Cara pretended not to see. "Where are the bow and arrows?" she asked, hoping it would distract him from crying. 

"I put them down over there," he said, tipping his chin at a tree on the far side of the clearing. Cara went to retrieve them, kneeling down to pick them up. There was a flash of motion, a wriggling thing leaping from the grass. Her reflexes were just fast enough for her to shift her body back half a pace, so that the snake missed her arm and found her thigh. Before it could dart away, bite delivered, she caught hold of it by the neck and crushed relentlessly until it was motionless. She flung the carcass aside, heard Simon running to her as she inspected the two neat little holes a hand's span below the crease of her thigh. 

"Are you okay?" Simon asked. "The forest is full of those things, they like to jump."

"Are they poisonous?" Cara asked, hoping the tingling in her thigh was from the puncture wound and not from venom.

"Yes."

"Of course." Her eyes lit on the sash at Simon's waist. She held her hand out. "Give me that."

He looked down at the sash. "Why?"

She nearly tore it off of him. "Because I need it to slow the poison, that's why." 

"Oh," said Simon. His eyes widened and he fumbled with the knot. "Oh!" 

Cara took the sash from his outstretched hand and made a tourniquet, focusing on getting it tight enough and staying calm. Panic lead to mistakes, and mistakes lead to death, often in undignified ways. "You'll have to go back by yourself to get Kahlan. The Mother Confessor. Can you do that?"

"Why can't you come with me?" asked Simon. 

"Because if I start walking, my heart will beat harder, and I'll probably die," said Cara. "Just keep the sun at your back and break a lot of branches on the way so Kahlan can find me."

"Okay," said Simon. He hesitated. "Will you really be okay?"

"If you hurry I will be," said Cara. She imagined the way Richard smiled as he told someone everything would be all right, and tried to imitate his expression. "Just tell her what happened."

"Keep the sun at my back," said Simon, and took off running.

Cara rearranged herself with her back against a broad tree, made sure the bow and arrows were close at hand, and settled down to wait.

*

Kahlan came crashing through the brush half an hour later. Cara couldn't hide her relief; the tingling was spreading through her leg despite the tourniquet, and there was a growing sense of unease in the pit of her stomach that she suspected was nausea. At least it didn't seem to be a very powerful poison, if she was still alive. "Kahlan," she called out.

"Creator's sake, you go out to find one child and then this happens," said Kahlan, bustling across the clearing and putting her pack down next to Cara.

"Thank you for finding the boy, Cara. I'm sorry a leaping snake bit you, Cara. I brought you some water, Cara."

Kahlan snorted. "Since when do you care about manners?"

She had a retort ready and waiting, but there were more pressing matters. She gestured to her thigh. "It bit me here."

Kahlan leaned over her legs to inspect the wound, fingers gently probing. "Alitha says there's no antidote for this kind of bite."

Cara felt her spine stiffen involuntarily. Dead of a snakebite--not at the top of her list of preferred deaths. 

Kahlan continued. "The bite is usually lethal for children, but not for adults. We just have to draw out as much of it as possible and let the rest run its course."

"Run its course?" Cara repeated, not liking where this was going.

Kahlan drew one of her daggers. "I have to cut off your suit."

"Absolutely not," said Cara.

Kahlan clutched the knife handle. "Would you rather take off the tourniquet and waste precious time wriggling out of that thing?"

"Just cut the laces," said Cara. "It comes off easily enough."

"Fine." 

So Cara unbuckled her belt, then leaned forward far enough from the tree for Kahlan to hook the blade on her laces, severing them one by one. She could feel them come undone all the way up her back, cool air circulating up her spine. Before she could peel the top half clear of her body, Kahlan cleared her throat politely. "I have a blanket for you."

"Just take it off," Cara said impatiently. "Did you never help each other dress at Aydindril, or were those tasks too common?"

Kahlan's jaw clenched, and Cara knew she was biting down on a scowl. "Just be ready." She tugged off Cara's boots, then reached for the tourniquet. Cara stilled her hand.

"I'll do it." She stood, unknotted the sash, and quickly stripped down, eschewing grace for speed. A Mord'Sith's leather was never meant to be discarded in haste, but it was only Kahlan, who was not interested in seduction at the moment and was instead keeping her eyes fixed on some point behind Cara's head. Cara retied the tourniquet and accepted the blanket from Kahlan, who was still not looking at her. "All right," she said, so Kahlan would stop being foolish. Aydindril must have been full of blushing girls, if this was how they behaved with each other. She found the idea not entirely unpleasant.

"Sit down," said Kahlan. Cara did so, leaning against the tree again. Kahlan held up her dagger. "Ready?"

Cara jerked her head in a nod. "I'd have done it myself if I could. Just get on with it."

"All right," said Kahlan, gentle now. She pushed on Cara's knee, getting her to open up her legs so Kahlan could settle between them and get to the wound. She pressed the blade to Cara's skin, letting the tip find the right spot, and then with the slightest of pressure, she cut. Cara bit her lip, focusing on the top of Kahlan's head as her steady hand made three neat, parallel incisions. Cara's skin was soft, and the dagger was keen; it took hardly any effort at all bring up blood. Kahlan put the dagger aside, gathered her hair in one hand, and lowered her head. Cara felt herself clutch the blanket tighter without quite knowing why--this promised to be much less painful than the touch of an agiel, or even the sting of a flail. 

Kahlan's mouth pressed to her thigh. For a moment Cara thought she needed guidance, but then she began to suck, drawing out what venom she could. She felt Kahlan's tongue brush against her skin, let her head fall back against rough bark. The tingling and the nausea faded away, replaced by the feel of Kahlan's mouth, the grip of her hands on Cara's thighs. She watched Kahlan intently, not looking away even when she stopped to spit out a mouthful of blood and poison. Twice more she returned to Cara's thigh, and then she sat back, making smacking noises as she rinsed her mouth with the water skin. "Bitter," she said.

Cara removed the tourniquet for good; it was almost a relief to be rid of the thing, and she rubbed idly at the red band of skin it had left behind. "Let's go," she said, and attempted to stand. A wave of dizziness sent her sideways into the tree, then to the ground. She rolled onto her back and tried to breathe through the disorientation, not caring that she was tangled haphazardly with the blanket. "What's happening to me?" she asked.

Kahlan eased her into a sitting position again. "It's going to take a while. Alitha says you're going to feel a lot worse before you feel better. Nausea, chills, dry mouth."

"In a dirty blanket in the woods," Cara muttered.

"You know, location should really be the least of your concerns," said Kahlan, nevertheless pulling the blanket snugly around Cara's shoulders.

"It should the greatest of yours. We can't both be away from the village," said Cara.

"You're not going to be able to move for the rest of the night, and I can't leave you here. Simon knows where we are; I told him to come for me if there's trouble."

"I don't need a minder to recover from a snake bite," Cara insisted. "I've endured far worse alone."

Kahlan just smoothed an errant strand of hair from Cara's forehead, where sweat was starting to bead up. "The point is, now you don't have to."

*

They couldn't risk building a fire after sundown. It was going to be a cool night, so Kahlan made a small lean-to and arranged Cara underneath it where her body heat would fill the space. She'd added another blanket for good measure, wrapping Cara firmly despite her protests. "I can't move," said Cara, squirming. 

"Try to relax. You're going to be exhausted tomorrow," said Kahlan.

"From being swaddled like an infant all night," Cara scoffed.

Kahlan sat back on her heels. "Weren't you ever sick as a child?"

Cara looked away, at the wall of the lean-to, and didn't answer. The venom was taking hold anyway, and it hurt her head to talk. 

The forest faded from grey to the darkness of true night, a sliver of moonlight the only thing allowing them to make out the vague shapes of the forest. Kahlan sat with her back to Cara and the lean-to, keeping watch. Cara lay still as long as she could, then pulled a hand free of her blanket. "I need my agiel," she said.

Kahlan shifted; Cara assumed she was receiving another of Kahlan's looks, this one an equal mix of bemusement and disdain. "Aren't you in enough pain?" she asked.

Cara gritted her teeth to stop them chattering. "I prefer my agiel to whatever's happening to me."

"All right," said Kahlan. She pulled Cara's belt closer by feel. 

Cara heard the scrape of an agiel being drawn, Kahlan suppressing a harsh gasp. The agiel nudged her hand and she gripped it, glad for its familiarity. "Thank you," she said.

"Rest," said Kahlan.

*

Cara didn't recall falling asleep, only that one minute she'd been trying to breathe through her mouth to settle her stomach, and the next she was desperately thirsty and freezing cold. "Kahlan," she said, her tongue feeling horribly swollen. 

Kahlan's disembodied voice floated out of the darkness; clouds covered the moon now, plunging them into absolute blackness. "I'm here."

"Water," said Cara.

The water skin sloshed, and then a warm hand pressed against her body, trailing up to her face and finding her lips. The spout followed, and Kahlan pressed a little gush of water into her mouth. She swallowed greedily. 

"How do you feel?" asked Kahlan.

Cara pulled her mouth from the spout reluctantly. Some time in the night her agiel had fallen from her grasp; she groped for it, felt it brush against her fingers and clasped it, grounding herself in the sensation. "I'm fine," she said, wishing her voice didn't sound like an old crone's.

Once again Kahlan's hand touched her face, this time falling on her forehead. "You don't feel fine," said Kahlan. "Are you too hot?"

"I don't understand how you and Richard didn't freeze to death in the winter if this is what you carried with you," said Cara.

"Well, we can't build a fire; I couldn't find wood anyway," said Kahlan. She rustled as she shifted, and then the blanket lifted from Cara, the draft immediately stinging her sweat-soaked skin. 

"What are you doing?" asked Cara, trying to yank the blankets back and dig further into the lean-to, but then Kahlan was pressed firmly against her, smooth dress at her shoulders, surprisingly soft leather at her waist, bare legs against bare legs. She'd taken off her boots. Cara's first thought was of danger--Kahlan needed to maintain her readiness, needed to keep her daggers close at hand. But as she wrapped them both in the blanket again and her heat soaked into Cara, concern gave way to relief. Everything felt better, from the sourness in her stomach to the throbbing in her head.

"Your feet are like ice," said Kahlan, covering them with her own feet. Cara could only imagine how ridiculous it looked and was glad of the shroud of night.

"One of us needs to stay awake," she warned Kahlan.

"It's only a few hours to sunrise." Kahlan placed an arm around Cara's stomach to hold her in place, fine muscles flexing slightly as she applied pressure. "It'll be over soon."

Cara closed her eyes and felt Kahlan breathing against her, the regular rise and fall of her chest and the warm exhalation on the back of her neck. She wanted to yank away and run through the woods, and she wanted to sleep for the next two days, and she wanted to find the D'Haran patrol and kill them all, and--Cara fell asleep, the agiel falling from her grasp.

*

She woke up hours past dawn. Initially she felt emptiness--where Kahlan had been, there was only a space under the blanket. Next was the fatigue, so deep in her muscles it was almost etched into her bones; she'd been shivering and clenching all night and apparently that was more taxing than killing ten men in a row or riding from sunup to sundown. She managed to roll over, half-hoping Kahlan had come to her senses and returned to the village. The other half of her hoped for something she couldn't put into words, but was inexplicably relieved to see Kahlan feeding a small fire a few feet away. 

"Good morning," said Kahlan. "There's tea, if you feel up to it."

Cara pushed herself up on one arm, annoyed at its shakiness. She forced it to hold her weight. "Yes," she said, and after a moment, "Thank you."

Kahlan poured boiling water from a little tin into a mug she must have brought from the village. She passed it to Cara, who didn't wait for it to cool before taking a sip. She could barely sense it scalding her tongue before it crept down through her chest, leaving a welcome trail of warmth. 

"How do you feel?" asked Kahlan. 

"Fine," said Cara. "When I'm done, we can return to the village."

"You should take it easy," said Kahlan. She smiled to herself. "I doubt anyone's ever told a Mord'Sith to take it easy."

Cara cocked an eyebrow at her. "Perhaps the same could be said of confessors."

Kahlan didn't bristle at the remark, didn't even respond. Cara would have thought it strange if Kahlan hadn't been doing that more often of late, sidestepping Cara instead of butting heads. It made her seem elusive, unknowable. "Drink," she said. "It'll help you regain your strength."

"I'm fine," Cara insisted. She pushed herself into a full sitting position just outside of the lean-to, blanket falling open to reveal a strip of golden skin. Once again, Kahlan shifted her gaze somewhere towards the ground, which Cara counted as a victory for the knowable. 

"I'll break camp while you get dressed," said Kahlan.

Cara finished her tea in three fast gulps, ignoring that it actually did make her feel better, and looked around for her leather. It was folded in a neat pile next to the pack, her gloves and belt resting on top with the remaining agiel safely holstered. She stood up with agiel in hand, focusing on keeping her feet planted and her back straight. The world tilted underneath her like a rocking boat, but she knew how to compensate for that and moved forward in a straight line. Reaching down to pick up her leather was just another trial in patience and balance, one she faced by making her agiel the center of her focus. 

Leather in hand, she inspected the damage from Kahlan's hasty removal. The laces were a lost cause; there was just enough for her to make a few improvised ties so that it would hold until she could find new laces. The only problem there- "Kahlan," she said, as she slid each leg home and pulled the leather up. She left her gloves off; she'd only remove them again when they returned to the village, and her fingers felt dull and clumsy enough without them. 

Kahlan looked up from scooping dirt onto the fire. "Yes?"

Cara dangled the scraps that had once held her leather in the back. "A few ties should do it."

Kahlan balanced herself, one arm resting on her knee, the other leaving a smudge of dirt on her forehead. "If I help you with this, will you promise to go slow and not overexert yourself?" she asked, squinting into the bright sunlight. 

Cara just turned away. "I'll do it myself, then." She reached behind her back for the eyelets, threading one with practiced ease. She tied it off and moved up a few notches, methodically closing the gap until just below her shoulderblades. She finished it off with a tie at her neck. It no doubt looked horrendous and there was a time she would have gone naked rather than wear her leather in such a slovenly fashion, but there were Kahlan's sensibilities to consider. And for herself, she was finding that when you were alone, practicality trumped pride when you least expected it. She latched her belt, the weight of it reassuringly familiar. 

Kahlan finished breaking down the lean-to, picked up Simon's bow and the stolen arrows, and slung the pack over her shoulder as she stood, facing Cara. "I'm ready," she said.

Cara gestured, one hand resting on the hilt of an agiel. "After you."

Kahlan started walking without another word, crossing the clearing at her usual brisk pace. Cara followed, determined not to fall behind. After only a few minutes she was breathing heavily and sweating again, clenching her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. Her stomach roiled, this time from hunger instead of nausea. She remained silent.

They were nearly halfway back when Cara felt it. She knew the sensation intimately--the point when will could no longer overcome the body. They had been walking for only fifteen minutes. She staggered, managed to gasp out, "Kahlan," and then collapsed.

Kahlan was beside her so quickly she must have been expecting this; Cara was furious with herself as she realized it had all been intentional. "Now will you take it slow?" asked Kahlan, pulling out the water skin. "You're of no use half dead."

Cara stared up at her from her prone position, letting the world slowly rotate back into its proper position. "Only if you promise never to tell anyone of this."

Kahlan didn't answer, instead snapping her head up alertly. "Did you hear that?" she asked.

Cara stretched out with her ears; the forest had gone silent. "A patrol," she hissed.

Kahlan dragged her to a tree and dumped the pack and bow and arrows next to her. "Stay here," she said. 

"Keep your back to me," said Cara, picking up the bow and nocking an arrow. 

The D'Haran patrol came running moments later from the direction of the clearing. No doubt they'd been followed; they hadn't bothered to obscure their tracks at all since the soldiers knew where the village was. Kahlan held back, knives in hand. "Cara," she said.

"Move left," said Cara, the energy surge brought on by a fight all she needed to draw and loose in one swift motion. The arrow missed Kahlan by a hairsbreadth to hit the first soldier low in the gut; she'd been aiming for the heart, but the gut was good enough. It was a slow, painful death, and he was out of the fight. 

Then Kahlan was dashing forward, meeting the next soldier with a thrust under the ribs from her knife. She pulled free with a whirl, caught a high sword strike from the next soldier with her left and sliced across his throat with her right. Cara shot another soldier in the chest. Kahlan lashed out with a kick to give herself room; Cara used her last arrow to take that D'Haran in the shoulder. Her arms were starting to tremble. 

Kahlan's dagger plunged into a D'Haran eye, then sliced across another's belly. Seven bodies littered the forest floor, and still more soldiers came. With Cara she stood a better than even chance; for all their disagreements, they were both best at close range and they understood each other's fighting styles well enough to move instinctively in sympatico. Without Cara, she was outnumbered over ten to one. 

Cara knew she had to get up. She used the bow as a cane, pushing and grunting until she was on her feet. She had a mortifying lack of control over her own body, but Kahlan was gradually being surrounded despite Cara's warning to keep the tree at her back. Cara drew her agiels, surprised at how little pain she felt through her numbed body. She needed the pain, the clarity it brought. She let her frustration become anger, which was enough for her to step into the path of a soldier thrusting at Kahlan's unprotected side. The clang of blade on agiel nearly jolted it out of her grasp but the instinct of long training was in play now, and without thinking she drove her other agiel at the soldier's chest, just over his heart. Exhaustion or no, her accuracy with an agiel was unerring. 

When the soldier finally collapsed, heart overwhelmed, Cara stumbled forward--directly into the path of another soldier. She let herself follow her momentum and dived bodily into the soldier's legs, knocking them both down in a tangle. She had no time for finesse; one agiel went to his thigh, eliciting a scream. The other went directly into his face, shutting the scream off as abruptly as it had started. 

She didn't see the kick until it was too late. The hard tip of a boot swung into her ribs, nearly lifting her off of the soldier she was pinning. She rolled onto her back to look the soldier in the face. She managed to block his first and second blows, but the third tore the agiel out of her left hand. Her right swung at him, too slowly, and was easily blocked. Her energy was almost gone. Kahlan was surrounded, bleeding from the arm and the back, still holding off three soldiers. Cara absorbed all this with unusual clarity: she saw the soldier in front of her preparing for the death stroke, the six men Kahlan had dispatched to Cara's two lying in a circle around her, the sunlit branches waving overhead. It was better than what she had expected.

And then a blade sprouted from the soldier's stomach, nearly a foot of it protruding in glistening red splendor. It withdrew slowly and the soldier tumbled aside without a sound. In his place stood Simon, a D'Haran sword that was too big for him held firmly in both hands. He smiled at Cara. 

Villagers swarmed around them, brandishing cudgels and long knives. Cara was familiar with their screams; they were angry, scared, at the limit of their tolerance. But instead of breaking down, they'd rallied. Perhaps all it had taken was full bellies for them to find some courage. 

"Aim for the heart next time," Cara said to Simon before passing out.

*

When she opened her eyes, it took her a few moments to realize that time had passed. She was inside a hut, on someone's bed, still in her leather, thank the spirits. Her belt and agiels were on a nearby table, her boots by the door, and she was covered to the chest with a green quilt. Judging by the light, it was afternoon--or it was mid-morning the next day, the thought of which was discomfiting. Even worse, someone had left her more flowers in a neat little water cup, probably Simon. She didn't know if he was grateful or smitten.

She pulled the quilt aside and sat up, suppressing a groan. If anything, she was even stiffer than when she'd last awoken. She pulled her arms and legs into brutal stretches, knowing the only remedy was to endure the pain until her body loosened. 

Perhaps seeing the state of her leather, someone had left out a dress for her. It was much nicer than that which the village women wore on a daily basis, well-sewn and dyed in a richer shade of green than the quilt, and she wondered if they'd dug it up just for her. Until she found new laces, it would have to do. 

She dressed slowly and meticulously, dashed her face with water from a bowl on the table, slung her belt over her shoulder--whatever she thought about these people, she wasn't going to leave her agiels lying around--and ventured out to look for Kahlan. Simon found Cara first.

"Hello," he said. He'd evidently looted the D'Haran soldiers, because his stolen sword now hung off a belt at his waist, complete with scabbard. The tip dragged on the ground with every other step. 

"That sword's too big for you," Cara said, eyeing Simon up and down. Under the grime and malnutrition, he was older than his size implied. She'd thought he was only eleven or twelve; he was probably a few years older than that, almost a man if he could get a few solid meals down. He'd shown no hesitation, no remorse for what she presumed was his first kill, and she thought about how it must have rankled to grow up powerless. 

Simon looked away, scuffing the ground with his toe. "I'll grow," he said.

"Wear it over your shoulder until then," Cara suggested. "It'll be better."

His smile returned. "Thanks."

Cara thought she should perhaps smile in return, but she'd already given him good advice. "Where's Kahlan?" she asked.

"I'll show you to the Mother Confessor," said Simon eagerly. He trotted off a ways, then looked over his shoulder. "Don't you still feel ill from the snake bite?"

"I'm Mord'Sith. I've tolerated worse," said Cara. 

Simon seemed to accept this at face value and continued, leading her to a hut closer to the center of the village. "Healer Toora said she bled a fair bit, but she'll be fine when she gets her strength back."

"Thank you," said Cara, stopping at the flap covering the hut's entrance. She looked pointedly at Simon. 

Instead of scampering away, he resumed his scuffing. "Maybe," he said, "Later, you could teach me? About my sword?"

Cara surprised herself by saying yes without hesitation. 

Simon fairly beamed and then did scamper, still boy enough to leave some skip in his step.

Cara pulled the flap aside and entered, finding Kahlan laid out on a bed similar to Cara's, where she seemed to be resting peacefully on her stomach. Her torn, bloody dress hung over the back of a chair, leaving creamy skin exposed until it disappeared under the sheet. There was a bandage on her back, probably another on her thigh, and she seemed on the pale side, but there were none of the signs of a fevered sleep. She would heal, probably faster than Cara. Poison could linger in the system; she'd have to ask the wizard about cleansing.

Cara inspected the rest of the room, finding nothing amiss save for the large bowl of used, bloody bandages in one corner. Her practiced eye estimated that what Simon had called "a fair bit" was almost too much. Kahlan's daggers were nearby and the pack was on a chair next to the bed. She rummaged through it and, to her relief, found her gloves. 

"I could've mistaken you for a thief, you know," Kahlan murmured, cracking both eyes. 

Cara just ran the gloves through her fingers. "You wouldn't care if the people of this village took every last item in this bag."

"Mm," said Kahlan, the sound laced with fatigue. "I see you're in some new clothes."

Cara twitched the skirt of her dress. "Temporarily." 

Kahlan smiled at that, as if it were funny. "You should have told them to leave you pants and a shirt. I'm not used to seeing you in a dress."

Cara just grunted noncommittally and moved to the side of Kahlan's bed to take a closer look at her wounds. The arm was insignificant, already scabbing over, but the back was torn from mid spine and traced around her ribs, judging from the size and shape of the bandage. That would have been a slash at her unprotected back, which made Cara frown. There was something else, a sense that it was her fault, that if she'd been stronger and faster Kahlan wouldn't be here on her stomach because it hurt to lie on her back. It might have been shame, which was an absolutely disgusting thing to feel. And Kahlan, damn her, saw it all cross her face. 

"It's not your fault," she said. 

"I know," Cara replied. "All things considered, I fought well."

Kahlan smiled again, another sidestep carrying her away from the spearpoint of Cara's words, and Cara wondered precisely when she had stopped looking mildly exasperated every time Cara spoke. She was better with exasperation. "Yes, you fought extremely well."

"We won't make the meeting with Richard," said Cara, just to change the subject. 

Kahlan sighed and closed her eyes. "He'll come back to find us when we don't meet him at Ristan."

"Sleep if you're tired," said Cara. 

"I could say the same to you," said Kahlan, words slightly muffled by her pillow. Still, she didn't open her eyes. 

"It feels as though we've spent most of our time here telling each other to rest, and none of it actually doing what Richard told us to do," said Cara. 

"I think they've got a good head start," said Kahlan. Her voice was slowly fading.

Cara held her tongue, watching Kahlan's body loosen until she was asleep once again. She thought briefly about the night before, what she could remember. She'd only been warm where Kahlan had touched her, warmest where skin met skin. She'd trusted a confessor to stay at her back while she slept, trusted that she wouldn't wake in the agony of confession or with a blade plunging into her throat. She was compelled to look away from Kahlan, ignoring the dark fall of hair curled up at her shoulders and the rise and dip of her body under the sheets. She adjusted her agiel belt over her shoulder and went outside to find Simon.

*

By day's end, Cara had started teaching more than just Simon the basics of swordsmanship. Most of the women in the village were eager to learn, and all the young boys looked prepared to die on the spot. She'd thought of Richard training the Minders and had wished for that rage, the instant battle fury that had proven devastatingly effective. Instead she'd gotten weakened villagers who were more enthusiastic than competent at this point. But they'd all looked to her for guidance and had obeyed instantly, unfailingly. None of them were afraid of her. 

Complicating matters was her much-weakened body. She was attempting to function on too little rest and even less food, leaving her prone to mistakes and a shortened temper. She had to sit for most of the training, watching and commenting and itching for a proper demonstration, agiel against blade. She'd exhausted herself in a mock fight with Simon, wishing all the while that Kahlan was able to join her.

She found herself back in Kahlan's hut after sundown, holding a tray with two bowls of the last of the venison stew. There was also half a loaf of crusty bread, and fresh water hauled from the well by a bursting-with-energy Simon despite the hours of footwork and basic strikes she'd imposed on him. Several of the snares Richard had set before leaving had proven fruitful, and the rest of the village was enjoying roast rabbit and partridge, along with the crops they'd been hoarding to pay the D'Harans. 

Kahlan was still sleeping. Cara could see someone had been in to change her bandages; otherwise Kahlan seemed not to have moved. The smell of liniment was in the air, not entirely unpleasant, and glowing embers in a small brazier radiated heat. Cara left the tray next to Kahlan's bed while she lit a few half-melted candles with kindling. 

Kahlan only stirred when Cara scraped the bottom of her bowl with her spoon, having decided that waiting for Kahlan to eat was ridiculous. "How long was I asleep?" she asked, rolling onto her uninjured side and pulling the sheets up to her neck in what she probably considered a discreet manner. 

"Only a few hours," said Cara. She set the remains of her dinner aside. "Your food's gone cold, but I can reheat it."

"I'll do it," said Kahlan, shifting to sit up, even though it cost her a wince.

Cara stood. "I can reheat a meal," she said, too quickly.

Kahlan paused, eyes flickering over Cara the way they did when she was coming to a decision. She lay back in bed. "All right. Thank you."

While Cara rekindled the coals in the brazier, she could feel Kahlan still observing her. "I'm not going to poison it," she said.

"I know."

Cara looked over her shoulder, finding Kahlan with her arms drawn up under her pillow. "Then why are you watching me?"

"Because I'm curious about you," said Kahlan honestly.

Cara frowned. "You know you can't read me."

"No, I thought I'd try just talking to you," said Kahlan, mostly free of sarcasm.

"What is there to talk about?"

"You don't have to feel obligated to take care of me," said Kahlan. The words seemed dismissive, but her voice was kind, as though she were doing Cara a favor.

Cara grew curious in turn, pushing down her irritation at the implied assumption. "What kind of sisterhood do you think the Mord'Sith are?"

"I'm pretty sure you never had to coddle anyone," said Kahlan. 

Cara couldn't help but smirk. "Coddle, never. But a sisterhood demands loyalty."

"I'm not a Mord'Sith."

"Nevertheless, you know where my loyalty lies," said Cara. She stoked the brazier just to have something to do with her hands.

Kahlan was quiet for a moment. "I do know," she said at last.

Cara stood straight. "Good. Now eat." She took the now-warm bowl of soup, put it on the tray, and set the tray on the bed in front of Kahlan. 

"Cara--"

"We'll both feel better tomorrow," said Cara. "Good night." She left the hut, still with Kahlan's gaze raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

*

For all her tiredness, sleep was elusive. The waxing moon was brighter tonight, and the sky was clear. She couldn't get comfortable, couldn't seem to access the training that had once let her clear her mind and shut down at will. She'd already relaced her leather and worked oil into it until it was as supple as ever; the ritual hadn't helped much. She was restless without knowing why.

Finally she got out of bed, the sudden coolness on her bare legs waking her fully. Finding the dress too restrictive and too warm, she'd found a simple linen shirt to sleep in. Alitha had provided it, saying it had belonged to her husband, who had evidently been quite a tall man as the shirt fell past mid-thigh on Cara. She'd left the laces at the chest loose. The venom had chilled her, but now she was too warm on an already warm night. She wanted to grumble at the fickle weather, at her even more fickle body. Then she remembered Richard cheerfully trudging through the rain, shrugging it off. "Nature happens to us whether we want it to or not," he'd said, and she'd looked back at Kahlan to see if she was as insane as Richard, or if she had the common sense to be as disgruntled as the wizard. She'd been smiling, of course, hair draped in wet tangles around her face and rivulets of water streaming down her neck and chest. 

Her feet took her back to Kahlan now, pulling aside the flap and letting the moonlight wash over the bed. Kahlan had rolled onto her side and let the covers fall to her waist in her sleep. Cara could see the dip of her spine limned, could just make out where waist met hip in a smooth curve. She let the flap fall, soaking the room in darkness save for the glowing wood in the brazier. She made her way to the chair, dropped the pack silently to the floor, and sat down. Kahlan came into focus as her eyes adjusted to the darkness again, and the sound of her slow, steady breathing filled Cara's ears. 

Cara tried to count back in her head, remembering the last time Kahlan had been truly aggravated with her, or had snapped at her with impatience. She tried to recall the last time she'd waited for Kahlan to fall asleep first. She fell asleep thinking that tomorrow, she'd take Simon hunting.

Whether it was the chair's arm digging into her side or something else, she couldn't say, but she woke up a few hours shy of dawn. The wood in the brazier had nearly burned itself out, but she could tell that Kahlan was staring at her. 

"Cara," said Kahlan, nearly in a whisper. "Are you awake?"

Cara shifted, feeling a sharp indent in her skin where the chair had been. "Yes."

She heard the sheets rustling, the mattress creaking, and took it as an invitation. She slipped into the bed, feeling the warmth in the center where Kahlan had been lying before sliding to one side. She stayed on her back, glad to be able to lay out flat, stretch her legs and rest her neck. She had not forgotten that Kahlan was nude. "Your bed is nicer than mine," she observed.

"Is that why you're here?" Kahlan asked, her voice sounding as though it were directly next to Cara's ear. 

"I wanted to make sure you were all right," said Cara. It was the truth, but it tasted like a lie on her tongue.

"I'm fine," said Kahlan. Her voice dropped lower. "And Cara, this is what Aydindril was like. We trusted each other, not just in battle."

"Go to sleep," said Cara. "We can talk in the morning." 

To her surprise, Kahlan fell silent. But Cara could feel her stiffness, knew she was holding herself too still to be relaxing back into drowsiness. It was instinct that made her speak again. "Come here," she said, pulling gently on one of Kahlan's arms. Kahlan came willingly, sliding back towards Cara, draping half her body over Cara's, this time all softness and all skin. Cara could feel every warm muscle and soft swell through her shirt, could feel Kahlan breathing on her shoulder. Slumber came soon for Kahlan; Cara stayed awake until sunrise.


End file.
